Last Day on Earth (22 page)

“Greg’s passionate hatred of NIU’s administration was alarming,” Officer Saam writes. “I knew that our department had prior interactions with Greg for various alcohol incidents and an incident with Officer Brunner. Greg is well versed in his constitutional rights and is highly argumentative about campus policies/rules.” He’s served on a housing governance board and a subcommittee called Believing in Culture. He tells her, “I was railroaded out of the organization. They told me to get out or they would put me out. They accused me of being racist, but I only liked to keep my meetings short and sweet—people were not going to waste my time by making the same points over and over again.” He tells her he doesn’t trust anyone here.

Officer Saam takes Greg to the Grant North Substation to talk with an investigator, but he wants to talk more with her, tells her he feels he can trust her. He knows her husband, Major Del Saam, from training exercises in ROTC. Greg tells her he wanted to commission as an officer in the army and become an MP, but the military wouldn’t let him continue in the ROTC because of asthma. “Greg is resentful and disgruntled about his failed dream, by his own admission,” she writes.

Greg says that after ROTC he went to the funeral of one of his classmates killed in Iraq. He tells Officer Saam that the Westboro Baptist Church protested the funeral. This was the kind of protest Steve wrote about also, describing it as “a religious right nutcase campaign to protest military funerals; their intent being to tie military deaths in Iraq to acts of god due to the United States supporting homosexuality.” Greg was arrested for disorderly conduct for his reaction to their protest. He knows there was a vigil this evening for the NIU victims, but he didn’t go because he’d heard the same church would be there to protest. “Greg did not trust himself to maintain control should he be confronted by those protesters again.”

Officer Saam is a great investigator. She writes, “It is important to note that Greg lives in the same residence hall (Grant D Tower) that the threatening graffiti was found in last semester in December.” According to Joe Peterson, this graffiti referenced Virginia Tech, said
the mistake was in having only one shooter, and had a second sentence against blacks, mentioning the student center. Mark raised the question of why not shoot blacks at the student center. And Greg, Mark, Steve, and Kelly were all racist. Is there any chance Steve might have mentioned something to Greg, something that Greg perhaps did not quite take seriously? Is that why he threw up when he found out the shooter was Steve? I have no evidence for this, though, and it seems unlikely. Steve seemed intent to act alone and keep everything secret. But you have to wonder. “Greg is intimately familiar with the security issues on the elevators in Grant Towers,” Saam continues, “and could easily have accessed the Women’s restroom on the 6th floor. Greg currently resides on the 4th floor.” Officer Saam ends her report with a strong warning: “This information compounded all together, I am concerned about this student being able to manage his anger, frustration, and hatreds.” This could have been written about Steve. “I hope that Greg will be sought out and interviewed before he exhibits violence, either related or unrelated, to our current crime.” I haven’t been able to find a follow-up interview with Greg in the police records, and I’m helping to hide him right now by not using his real name, just as I’m helping to hide Mark and Kelly and others. Our concerns about privacy mostly protect the guilty and implicated. I hope there was a follow-up with Greg, and I hope they’re watching him still.

The next day, February 16, there’s another big meeting in the sociology department for staff and faculty to be trained to respond to questions from undergrads. It’s a grief management session of sorts, but it turns into an exhausting therapy session, with everyone talking again about how they feel.

The sociology grad students keep in constant contact from the beginning by email and phone and text and in person. They have lunch, trying to figure out how they’re supposed to help their undergrads and really respond, and their waitress figures out what they’re talking about. She starts asking them questions, which feels overwhelming, and they think, God, if we can’t handle questions even from our waitress, what are we going to do?

This is when Josh Stone goes around trying to help everybody, trying to be there for Jessica and other friends, and ends up drinking a full bottle of hard liquor each night. He stops, finally, when he almost gives his two-and-a-half-year-old daughter the wrong medication. He and others in his family have histories of drinking problems, and he knows the warning signs.

On Sunday, February 17, three days after the shootings, Detective Wells calls Kelly. He’s found her from phone records. She made a call to Steve about forty minutes before the shooting, left a voicemail telling him she’d been hired for a new job. She tells Wells that “she never noticed anything about him that seemed abnormal.” I just have to repeat that. She tells Wells that “she never noticed anything about him that seemed abnormal.”

Wells asks Kelly for all her email correspondence with Steve, and she struggles with this, holds back some of the emails. “This is all very hard for me to deal with anyway,” she writes to Wells later that day, “and I just want what we had to remain separate from the mess that’s being shown. Like I have said, our last conversation has replayed in my mind so many times to find that one thing I missed . . . I know that your work is trying to identify motive, but there is no ‘why,’ if you understand what I mean. No one event caused him to ‘snap,’ as the entire thing was apparently so carefully planned. Steve was a very intelligent and caring person who eventually just let his problems overwhelm him. I’m sorry that it came to such a tragic end, but the only one who knows the events that preceded 2.14.08 is him.”

On the same day, Jessica agrees, finally, to an interview on CNN, because she wants to dispel rumors that Steve was abusive. She says he was a nice, normal guy. “No, no way, Steve would never do such a thing,” she says about the shooting. Steve was sweet, a nearly perfect student, a winner of the Deans’ Award. Her voice in grief is a baby voice, her open, pale midwestern face reveals only her sadness at this inexplicable event. She’s wearing an orange U of I sweatshirt, holds a love note from Steve she received the day of the shooting, along with her other gifts. “He was probably the nicest, most caring person ever.”
She says she was his girlfriend. They’d been dating for two years, and he had recently gone off his medication because it made him feel “like a zombie.” “He was just under a lot of stress from school, and he didn’t have a job, so he felt bad about that . . . he wasn’t erratic, he wasn’t psychotic, he wasn’t delusional, he was Steve. He was normal.” Jessica seals the story. Successful student, caring boyfriend, sweet young man snaps for no reason, this event an anomaly in his life.

The next day, Kelly writes to Detective Wells, “It’s hard enough to deal with what happened, but then I have to hear the ‘girlfriend’ on cnn all the time. It’s just that now I don’t even know the truth. He was consistent from the first time we met that she was an ex, they were roommates, he cared about her a lot but had been encouraging her to date other people because he felt she was really possessive and jealous over him. Now I can’t help but question everything and it’s frustrating to not have the truth. I contacted her through myspace (I know I shouldn’t have, but when I did, I still believed she was the ‘roommate’) and now I’m certain that I’m unwelcome at any services for him after our brief conversation.”

Jessica is still trying to make sense of things herself. Even a month later, she writes to Mark, “I’ve decided that I have some questions that might seem odd. I want to know exactly where he shot himself. Is that bad? When I picture him, I see him shooting himself in the temple. Does that seem right? He doesn’t seem like a gun in mouth person. Sorry if this is disturbing.”

She was Steve’s confessor, after all. He told her everything, and he told everyone else almost nothing. So it’s strange for her now to know so little.

“So we said he’s not a gun in the mouth type of person,” Mark says. “He’s just not. She thought that, and I felt the same way. Probably the temple.”

The truth is that Steve put the gun in his mouth.

“I had to look up pictures of what people look like after shooting themselves like he did,” Jessica writes. “I probably shouldn’t have done
that, because I’ve been having nightmares since I looked it up, but it just reaffirms my feeling that he was someone else that day. It wasn’t really Steve.”

“It’s been almost three months,” Jessica writes to me later, “and I still wait for Steven to come home. When I’m at home, watching television, I still turn to where he would be sitting, so that I can comment on something. When I’ve had a rough day at work, I start dialing his number so I can talk to him. Even though I’m in a new apartment, one that Steven never saw, it feels empty and not quite like home. There are pictures of him and us everywhere. I sleep in his shirts and I miss him so much. I didn’t realize how complete he made me and how lonely my world is without him here.

“I’ll always be grateful for the 2 years that I spent with Steven. Even though some times were extremely difficult, I feel so lucky that he was in my life. Steven had a profound influence on my life. If it weren’t for Steven, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. He touched every part of my heart and soul. I wish that everyone would be able to experience what Steven and I shared.

“I feel responsible because I didn’t know what he was thinking and how he was feeling. There is nothing that I wouldn’t have done for him. I wish he would have talked to me about what was going on in his head. I don’t think Steven knew what his final actions would do to me. I think that Steven thought that all the things he sent to me would be enough to get me through the devastation he left behind.

“Some people were angry when I told them about the wedding ring Steven sent me. I don’t think that Steven meant anything bad by it. The ring was Steven’s way of telling me that if things were different, he would have married me and we would have been happy. I think the ring was his way of finally telling me that he wasn’t afraid to commit. I know that Steven loved me even though he had a difficult time showing me all the time.”

Jessica beats herself up about warning signs, and also about the last day she saw him, February 11, three days before the shooting.

“You can write a book about me someday,” he told her that day.

“Why would I want to write a book about you?” she asked him.

“I can be your case study,” he said.

On the way to the Marilyn Manson concert the week before, he asked her, “What do you think happens when you die?”

A few months earlier, he told her, “One day I might just disappear and you will never find me. Nobody will ever find me.”

A few months before that, he told her, “If anything happens, don’t tell anyone about me.”

NIU PROFESSOR KRISTEN MYERS
talks about the “forward, together forward” campaign here, which is from the school fight song and is posted on the door of nearly every business in DeKalb. She talks also about the “new normal” approach from the administration. It sounds like something out of Orwell’s
1984
. “Everyone is supposed to move forward now as if nothing happened, because now is the ‘new normal,’” Kristen says. “But I’m not willing to ‘absorb’ any more and move on in the ‘new normal.’”

Kristen’s angry now because she adored Steve as a student and helped recommend him. He went to parties at her house and met her kids. “If I had the money, I’d move away right now. I’d leave the country, I think. Maybe Canada or Mexico.” She was in Panera with her daughter and suddenly felt she had to tell her what to do if a shooter came in the door. “When I had to talk to my daughter in Panera, that was it.” She tells me that a young woman on the faculty carries a kind of popup Lexan shield now to every class, a contraption made for her by her husband. And Kristen’s husband taught at Virginia Tech before coming to NIU. His father and grandfather committed suicide. There’s a sense of doom.

Jerry Santoni is “ready and anxious to move on afterward in classes,” so he’s frustrated by the counseling sessions, some of which he feels become “just random gossip sessions.” But he can’t believe the oceanography course continues after the shooting. “The teacher [Joe Peterson] was pretty relentless, even for the final. I took the class only as an elective. The only policy change was that we’d have announced quizzes instead of pop quizzes. I thought he would react a lot more sympathetically.”

Jerry is in a bathroom on campus a few days afterward, his first day back in school, and someone bangs against a towel dispenser, which makes a loud sound. “I seriously went through three seconds of ‘Oh
God, What’s happening!’ I remember the echoing of the shotgun blasts.”

“The students were the most inspiring thing,” Joe Peterson says, talking about how they forged on and completed the class. Less than 10 of his 160 or so students dropped out. “I’m not a victim of this guy,” he says. “I’m a survivor of him.”

But the damage Steve did extends to thousands of people. The funerals for the five students he killed—Catalina Garcia, Ryanne Mace, Dan Parmenter, Gayle Dubowski, and Julianna Gehant—are held the week after, from February 18 to 20, “but there are really about forty thousand victims,” Jim Thomas says. “This entire university and community.” And one could extend that farther, too, of course. The vice principal at Steve’s former high school in Elk Grove Village tells me they can’t even hold a fire drill now, students are so spooked. The effort put into emergency response plans at universities across the country mirrors the Homeland Security effort, expensive and entirely incapable of responding to a swift attack.

Steve’s godfather, Richard Grafer, is “sick to death of talking about Steven. I didn’t know him. For fifteen years we had no contact. Now my own neighbors drive by and point at my house. I’ve shut down my entire life because of Steven. I can’t go to a grocery store without people saying, hey, I saw you on TV, your godson killed a bunch of people.”